As I nestled into my couch, clad in my favorite yoga pants and ready to binge-watch my recorded shows, it hit me: it’s Saturday night. And honestly? I couldn’t care less about being anywhere other than my cozy family room. This realization is a clear sign that I’ve officially crossed into adulthood.
If my 20-year-old self could see me now, she’d probably burst into laughter at the sight of me, sipping wine and eagerly wanting to catch up on three episodes of a reality TV show. But you know what? My 40-year-old self is perfectly content, completely unbothered by what the younger version of me might think about my choice of Saturday night activities. I genuinely relish being in my forties.
Looking back, I remember being terrified of turning forty. My mother once threw a surprise birthday bash for my dad that was all about “Over The Hill.” There were black balloons, streamers, and a cake that depicted an old man crawling over a green hill, humorously dubbed “Old Fart.” I recall thinking that reaching forty meant the end of the line for living life to the fullest.
At 13, I vowed I would never be that old and boring. I had grand plans to travel the world and certainly never drive a minivan. Fast forward to today, and I find myself eating those words, and not just accepting them, but embracing them wholeheartedly.
My younger self would be shocked to learn that I’ve moved on from obsessing over the scale. Size 4? No thanks! A size 8 allows me to enjoy a glass of wine without feeling guilty about my pants fitting. She’d be amazed to see that I’ve developed the confidence to stand firm in my professional life, demanding what I deserve without a second thought.
And marathons? My 20-year-old self would have never guessed I’d run seven of them. Back then, I wasn’t in nearly the shape I am today, but motherhood and the need for a semblance of sanity drove me to lace up my running shoes.
She’d likely chuckle at my spacious SUV and shake her head at my busy carpool schedule. However, she’d be pleased to know that I still crank up the volume and jam out to classic hits when Jon Bon Jovi comes on the radio—some things never change.
One thing my younger self would appreciate is that I’ve found a meaningful, lasting love after years of dating men who didn’t recognize my worth. However, real love doesn’t always come wrapped in roses and candlelit dinners; sometimes, it’s about teaming up to tackle the chaos of life, like cleaning up after a sick child at 2 a.m.
I won’t lie—she’d probably crack up over my underwear drawer transformation. The lace and sheer pieces have been swapped for comfort-focused lycra and underwire. Sorry, Victoria’s Secret, but I’ve never been happier in my Hanes.
My younger self would also be relieved to know that I’ve achieved a level of success that allows me to enjoy luxuries without worrying about rent. Yet, she’d be a bit disheartened to find out that my idea of a splurge now involves a new dishwasher rather than a spontaneous trip to Paris. But hey, you can read more about enhancing your fertility through smart choices, like taking supplements, at Make a Mom.
Travel might not have panned out as I envisioned; while my 20-year-old self would roll her eyes at my only trip to London, she would be surprised to learn that my best adventure was a road trip to Texas with my kids. Sure, it doesn’t involve the Eiffel Tower, but we had a blast playing Mad Libs and even stopped in a quirky town called Bucksnort, TN.
She’d have a heavy heart hearing about my dad’s passing and would realize how precious moments are; she’d wish she could hug him a little tighter and cherish our conversations more deeply.
As for pop culture, she would be relieved to learn that Ross ends up with Rachel and frustrated that “Seinfeld” concluded. And I suspect she’d still be just as thrilled to binge-watch reality TV on a Saturday night.
If my 20-year-old self were honest, she might secretly acknowledge that my life at forty isn’t so bad. She’d probably reconsider her stance on aging when she learns that intimacy often improves with the confidence that comes with experience. She’ll discover there’s nothing to fear about turning forty; in fact, it’s just the beginning of the best years ahead.
While I’d gladly save a spot for her beside me on the couch, she’s likely too busy planning a night out dancing. That’s perfectly fine; I’ll be here, ready to welcome her when she’s ready to join the fun.